The Dead Don’t Beg
By Bridget Squires
Smashwords edition
This is number four in “The Dead Don’t” ongoing series. Warning this story is both sexually and violently graphic and may be disturbing to some readers. Enjoy and please leave a review!
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The scent of her perfume clung to the air like a warm breeze, reminding one of a simpler time. Such a sweet smell, so innocent and childlike as if pulled from the pages of a Hallmark card. The perfume trapped itself in one's nostrils and lingered on one's clothes. A smell that could be savored long after her demise. Across the table her sky blue eyes gave the normal come hither stare and her voice carried like a tune almost mixing with the perfume.
It had been two days since the game begun with the initial invitation. Now here she was, dominating the conversation with tidbits no one really cared to hear. It reminded one of sheep bleating over and over again with no clue that the sound meant nothing to those around them. The rules had not been followed; the heavy face paint that women consider being makeup, slaughtered her face, ruined every inch.
The denim mini skirt at least was different than the rest, a fresh reminder of her youth. Baby pink lipstick, smeared slightly from the drinking glass, graced those full pillow soft looking lips. A red tee shirt clung to her breasts, her nipples playing pee-a-boo whenever the cardigan would open from the brisk autumn breeze. Delicate fingers tapped the table as if for emphasis on whatever conversation she imagined was occurring.
Voices bore most people; it may sound surprising but after awhile everyone sounds alike. The same stories are told, just from a different perspective, as if each were auditioning for a role and reading from the same script. So monotonous and aggravating. Would one die from originality? Where there had been hope that she would be different there now was a truthful realization.
The realization that she was not unique, not special in the way one had hoped but she would soon be special in a whole new way. A way that would leave little to the imagination and would make her headline news for at least a few days. Far more action than her pathetic life had ever offered. Far more than she deserved. Her with the red sparkled tongue ring that glimmered under the restaurant terrace lights. The red color challenging one with fierceness, reminding one of its evils. It would be a new trophy; yes number eleven would be special for at least awhile tonight.
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It had been two days since Detective Taylor had questioned the Mexican restaurant waitress about Lilly Sue, victim ten of the West Path Tie Killer. It was promising information in a way, for once. A man had in fact been with Lilly Sue although because of the fading light; dusk had fogged her memory of his exact looks. Black cropped hair, medium build, 25 to 35 years of age approximately and well dressed was the best she had come up with. Such a disappointment, that description fit at least a third of the city but did confirm Taylor's suspicions. The victims knew few people here in the city so this stranger, this mystery first date man, was connected to them all in some fashion. Knowing the victims vulnerability meant the killer was close enough to know the girls habits, know they craved a friend here. The killer would rejoice in the fact that they would trust him, follow him to their ends and that he would be the last face they ever looked upon.
The killer must stalk them somehow since he often would locate the girls in an area where no one would pay much attention to two people chatting. No one that had seen the victims ever remembered seeing them with a male. One victim, number six Teresa Hayley Thomson, had been a lesbian and safety fiend. Her door had been affixed with three separate locks. The landlord had seen women enter Teresa's apartment frequently but when questioned extensively these women claimed to only know her through casual passings in the hall. Fear they would be ousted to the community as lesbians had built a wall of secrecy around Teresa's case.
Taylor was now looking into cable installers. Every victim had the same cable company so perhaps the cable installer was the killer or at the least connected to the killer. Something had to give way and soon! It was Friday night, victim eleven was soon to be claimed and there was little to nothing Taylor could do to stop it. The West Path was miles upon miles long and the victims had been found too far apart than to highlight a sensible pattern. Taylor's heart sank at the idea of eleven and the brutality she would soon face. A single tear swelled in Taylor's eye then rolled like a wave to her chin before resting there until Taylor swatted it angrily away.
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As the moon rose, one noticed the chill that spread across her features. Goosebumps raised on her delicate skin as she shifted her cardigan to try and block the chill the autumn wind created. The path was near impossible to see by the moonlight, which caused her to cling to one’s arm as if afraid of what lurked in the surrounding forest. One couldn’t help but snicker. The forest was by far the last thing she would have to fear tonight; no soon she would be fearing a whole new element as death faced her eye to eye. The path crunched below her heels, like small bones being crushed under her feet. The noise brought back the anger memory of ten and her early demise. One’s hands balled into fists as the sound of ten’s neck snapping echoed in one’s head. As if sensing the hostility she shivered and drew back slightly. A reassuring smile and soft touch erased the agitation immediately. It wasn’t time yet, no not yet. This spot was far too close to number ten’s sacred spot. Eleven would have to be far enough away to make eleven’s spot sacred as well. A shrine to eleven’s evil as well as beauty.
Her voiced carried into the darkness, as if she was attempting to find another individual along the path. No such luck would be found though. As she rounded the corner, one’s eye caught an unlikely figure in the shadows. A growl of aggravation caused her to jump once more forcing one to once again comfort her. It disgusted one how easily she was calmed, like there laid no danger ahead, like one would shelter her ruthlessly if trouble arose. The figure pushed by, a cart and raggy clothes gave way for a lasting scent of musk and sweat. She gazed at the hobo with sympathetic eyes which only further reminded one of her weakness and pitiful mannerisms. One winced at the thought of being observed, but a hobo was not a major cause of worry. The homeless were like mosquitoes, nesting where most did not inhabit and disappearing with the cold. No the hobo would be of no concern at all but as the moon centered in the sky, one could feel that the time was now. So began the final test of her fortitude.
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Detective Taylor collapsed in bed surrounded by the gruesome crime scene photos and details of victims one through ten’s deaths. It was no wonder Taylor never had a date that lasted more than an hour. What man would want to hear the twisted details of mutilations since that would be all Taylor would have to discuss? There was no time for a social life when one surrounds one’s self with death every day. No men were a puzzle that Taylor simply did not have time to figure out. Eleven would be claimed soon, Taylor could feel it deep within her chest. A heaviness in her heart told the tale. By tomorrow or the next day Taylor would once again be called out to the West Path to collect evidence and create a file for another unfortunate victim. As Taylor drifted off to sleep, the trials that tomorrow may bring, lingered in her mind.
The dream was dark and ominous. Taylor found herself along the West Path, grasping for some sort of reality that did not actually exist in this plain. A man and women approached her slowly and it wasn’t until the two got closer that Taylor noticed there was something odd about the woman’s face. The moon lit the features and Taylor drew back frightfully. The woman’s eyes had been cut out; jagged razor marks surrounded the sockets leading into the deep darkness of the woman’s head. The mouth was sewn shut with barbed wire and along her cheeks were gashes that almost imitating a hideous distorted smile. Around her neck, a men’s tie hung, and the man was leading the women by it. His features were obscured by the shadows and Taylor watched as the he lead the woman off the path and near the ravine. Taylor followed, desperately trying to grab the woman, bat at the man anything that would break the link between the two yet her hands simply wafted through their bodies.
The man yanked the tie violently, causing the woman to stumble and fall to her knees roughly along the rocky shore. The waves echoed as each crashed upon the shore and smothered the sounds of the man beating the woman ruthlessly. Stripping the woman he finally acknowledged Taylor’s form and laughed a cruel and wicked laugh as he bent the woman over and violated her repeatedly. Taylor screamed and ran but then the two were gone, had disappeared from sight. Instead Taylor looked upon the ground to see rocks lined up to spell out an evil taunt. “You lose” was all it said. With a start Taylor awoke, sighed and peeled herself out of bed. A midnight snack might do some good to calm her down.
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A gentle tug led her off the path and caused her eyes to spark with curiosity. The question was coming; one could sense it like a cat senses the mouse not yet in sight. The splash of colorful leaves crunched beneath each step and one lead her down past the brush and bushes towards the ravine. When she asked the ever present question, one simply smiled devilishly and commented slyly about a shortcut which she accepted with a smirk and nod. Almost there, almost to her forever shrine. A special place picked out just for her, near the water would be a pleasant change because like so many, one relished in the calm the water possessed.
As the moon glimmered across the ravine, one removed the tie and jokingly complained about the stuffiness the outfit caused. Her eyes reflected the shimmer of the water as she giggled and removed her cardigan, tossing it along a small bench that many utilized to watch the ships come and go from the bay. Her nervous but excited glance beckoned him playfully as she leaned in for a kiss, which one met with parted lips. The tie was affixed around her neck and still she had no worries or suspicions as to what was about to occur. So trusting, such a follower and truly pathetic eleven was. Just like the others, ready to give in without reservation, without respect, without a thought to danger or well being. Oh yes the time had come to make that blond hair bloody and disheveled and those blue eyes pale with death.
The initial blow sent her to her knees; the next caused a hideous cracking sound and the familiar sound of teeth breaking. She collapsed, startled and crying, to the ground, the rocks digging violently into her skin. That mocking red shirt was sliced clean off by the serrated blade, bra torn off with such violence the straps left deep swells in her skin. She tried to scream, but the blade was quickly placed to her delicate throat. One whispered the warning and like the rest she obeyed like the mutt she was. The mini skirt was yanked off and thrown aside like the trash it was. Much like the owner. Her hysteria was thrilling, she cried like the rest, snot pouring from her nose, spilling onto the ground. Small gasps escaping her bloody lips, snivels echoing into the night sky. One took advantage of the moment, seizing the tie, twisting it tightly, and pushing her face first into the bench. The violation wasn’t so much about the act itself as much about the humiliation she would suffer. She begged, begged for her life, to be let go. They all begged but one’s favorite part was when it was over. The dead don’t beg, simply were submissive to one’s every whim, a doll to pose and a scene to create. Her cries were quickly muted by the tightening of the tie and once done one finished the deed and proceeded to ready her for the morning and her new awakening to the world.
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The ringing phone awoke Taylor abruptly, immediately sending shivers down her skin. Taylor knew, knew what this early morning call must mean. Eleven had been claimed, and Taylor had done little to save her. The voice on the other end confirmed her fear and throwing on yesterdays jeans and a clean t shirt, Taylor charged out the door, savoring the opportunity that possibly some sort of clue would be found to end the madness. To end this monster of the night that killed young girls in their prime.